The Train and the Faces

by Meg Thompson

One time before I started taking the train
I went kissing in the mid-morning
scrum of walking traffic. All us faces
headed uptown, I turned around and kissed
everyone I passed. What else, I thought,
to do with your face and another's?
But one must be quick to lip each face in a herd,
and I'll be honest, some faces got more lip than others.
Some faces were too far up so I kissed the smooth
knolls of shoulders. Some faces, too small,
I missed. Some faces were like kissing water
from a fountain they were so fast, fast as the train
I'm on now, watching the faces outside run
together, smear to that memory,
then slow down at the same time.




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